Page 58 of Room 553: A Psychological Thriller

“Yes. And also because my father passed away.”

“You were aware that Dr. Hastings had been involved in other adulterous affairs?”

I make sure to look really sullen. “No. Like I said, our relationship wasn’t really like that. He was my father’s physician. He came on to me. I made a mistake.”

“I hear he was quite the Romeo.”

I don’t respond.

“Does that surprise you?”

“I don’t know.”

She cocks her head. “You don’t know?”

I start crying. Big, fat crocodile tears. “I’m not sure I really knew Max Hastings at all.”

“But you just said you didn’t love him.”

I blow my nose into the sleeve of my shirt. “I didn’t. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have just as easily been me that wound up dead,” I exclaim, still crying. But I do not implicate Max in the murder. I only state the facts as I know them to be.

“Did Dr. Hastings give you any indication of the sort?”

I tell her about the cat, and the note, and the dead bird on my windshield.

“Did you think he was stalking you?”

“I don’t know,” I say, and when I don’t offer anything more, her partner chimes in. “Max Hastings has confessed to driving by your house on occasion. Late at night.”

This is news to me. I place my face in my hands and rub my eyes. “God, how could I have been so stupid?”

There’s a collective sigh in the small room. Even two people as jaded as hardened career detectives could imagine a time when they themselves have done really stupid things. My confession is just enough to sway them over to my side. It helps that Max Hastings was an easy target. I guess sometimes you get lucky. I hit the jackpot.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Dr. Max Hastings

AFTER

When you have a body, when that body happens to be your wife, when your belt is wrapped around your wi

fe’s neck, when she is found dead in a hotel room where you frequently take your mistress—what can you expect?

It only goes downhill from there. When every sordid detail of your affair is dragged out for all to see, when the details of your sex life are splashed all over television, the internet, national publications…well, I can say things start to not look very good.

The Belmond doesn’t have cameras on the room level or anywhere that matters, apparently. Only in the lobby. Whoever killed Nina did not go out the front entrance. Thankfully, I had Dr. Jones and a very good, very expensive attorney. In the end, the jury handed down a verdict of manslaughter based on criminal negligence. I’ll spend ten years in prison. A little more than eight, with good behavior. My defense team did a sufficient job at creating just enough doubt in the juror’s minds. Evidence may have been stacked against me, but they couldn’t prove that I intentionally went there to kill Nina.

It was suggested that Nina’s death was the result of a sex game gone wrong. I know because I’m the one who suggested it.

You see, when you’re facing life in prison, you get desperate. I did not see myself coming out of this unscathed. Laurel Dunaway had an alibi for the night of Nina’s murder. She and her husband were at a dinner party.

Which meant I got just desperate enough to come up with a good story. I admitted that Nina had found out about the affair. She was distraught. She wanted me to show her what Laurel Dunaway and I were into. In reality, this was not so far-fetched. Most scorned women have a need to hear all of the details. So I confessed. I gave her the details and then I showed her. And that’s when things went very, very wrong. I hadn’t meant for Nina to die. Which isn’t so far from the actual truth.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Laurel Dunaway

Journal Entry

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